


Whumptober 2020

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Series: Whump Challenges [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: 'Pick who dies', 'Stop please', 'Take me instead', Abandonment, Angst, Angst and Feels, Being Lost, Betrayal, Blackmail, Blood, Broken Bones, Brotherly Angst, Captivity, Caretaking, Carrying, Concussions, Crying, Delirium, Dubious Science, Exhaustion, Extreme Weather, Failed escape, Fainting, Father-Son Relationship, Fever, Grief/Mourning, Gunplay, Hallucinations, Heat Stroke, Hostage Situations, Hypothermia, Ignoring an Injury, Illnesses, Injury, Left for Dead, Locked Out, Major Character Injury, Manhandling, Medical Experimentation, Mugging, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oxygen mask, Panic Attacks, Prison, Ringing Ears, Self-Sacrifice, Sensory Deprivation, Stitches, Trail of Blood, Waking up Restrained, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, heat exhaustion, piggyback, reluctant bedrest, science gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26745967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Here's my series of short Ego drabbles for Whumptober 2020! Once again featuring the Septics, the Ipliers, and some AU action. Pain abounds!
Series: Whump Challenges [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947124
Comments: 20
Kudos: 56





	1. Waking Up Restrained

**Author's Note:**

> Just FYI: Some of the prompts will be filled with Egos from my Swap AU, where, true to the name, the Egos have switched roles. Here is the list of "Swaptics":
> 
> Anti AKA “Puppetmaster”: The supervillain who rules as a tyrant over Elvery Heights. There’s no one to challenge him and his powers, but there are rebellions here and there.
> 
> Janson AKA “Jackie”: The Glitch. His glitching can make him irrational and lash out at the others, but he wants to use the ability for good, if he can only learn how.
> 
> Dr. Marvin McLoughlin: The dry-witted, slightly cynical but good doctor. He’s the closest to their creator Jack and deeply blames himself for his coma. His luck didn’t hold out when it should have.
> 
> The Splendorous Schneeplestein: The spastic, energetic magician who ended up being tortured by Anti for information on how to gain new powers. He didn’t give him anything, but it left him and his magic pretty screwed up.
> 
> Charles Brody: The mute 1930′s man snatched from the past – along with his family. His family couldn’t cope with the change in the future or with Charles’ acceptance of it. They left to find a way to return to their own time.
> 
> James Jackson: The sweet vlogger who tries to keep the others in good spirits with his baked goods. He takes a lot of their pain on himself and has a lonely struggle with depression and self-harm.

It was the tingling that stirred Jameson from his unanticipated sleep. Nerves in his fingers and toes buzzed with prickly, lingering pain, circulation cut off by some unseen pressure. Eyelids fluttering, he shifted—to roll over, doze off again?—and met resistance that finally gave birth to one clear thought:

_Strings_.

With a harsh gasp that pulled in more dust than air, he jerked in a futile attempt to sit up, his arms and legs betraying him. He couldn’t even lift his head, the loops around his throat skintight and unyielding. He was tethered spread-eagle to a cold, wet floor. Above him, the only light piercing the pitch blackness, his captor’s eyes shone with sick, familiar, manic glee.

“W̡elcome͟ back, ļiţt̵l̸e lamb. ̧Y̕ou̴'͢v̸e̵ b͡een͠ le̵d̛ ̨t̴o ̢t͟h̢e͏ sl̕au̢ght͟er̷!”


	2. "Pick who dies."

“These lives in your hands are such a burden, aren’t they? I wonder what the city will think when only one of them goes home tonight.”

“Call it off!” Jackieboy barked, wild eyes darting up to the flickering screens. Two men, two hostages, a gun to each head. “Call it off _right now_ or I’ll—I’ll—!”

“You know you aren’t fast enough to save them both. Does the helplessness scare you? Or is it something about these two _particular_ victims?”

Jackie’s heart was in his throat at the sight of them. Chase, still finding things to live for, terror slipping out in half-stifled cries. Henrik, too intimate with death, gray-faced and silent.

“It’s your choice, hero. Which one are you willing to lose?”


	3. Manhandled

It took five men to successfully grapple Captain Magnum to the ground and two more to keep him there as they began detaching his prosthetic log legs from their sockets. Spitting curses, he bucked against them, right leg snapping upward for one resounding kick.

A crunch, a scream and a burst of blood were his reward, one of his attackers toppling, but he didn’t have time to revel in it. The others’ fists plowed into his face, his throat, determined to beat him into submission. When the butt of a musketoon crashed into his ribs, he forgot how to breathe.

“Stay down, captain,” their leader sneered, shifting to nudge the long barrel under his chin as he hacked and sputtered. “Even if you _could_ run, there is nowhere to go.”


	4. Stitches (Swap AU)

“Just̢ g͜ive͘ up already, ̨this ̶i͡sn͜'͏t ̢wo̴rki̛n͟g. I ͢c͢an̛'̴t make ̷it͜ ̡st̶o̡p!”

“If you want it to stand _any_ chance of working, you need to stay calm and let me focus, Janson,” Marvin reminded him with unusual patience, barely glancing up.

Gritting his teeth, Janson stared down at his gashed, spasming arm with loathing. Marvin could waste hours over this cut, vainly trying to find and repair his skin through the static. The needle and thread phased through him like water and the pads of gauze below were almost soaked through. That was always the case with him, wasn’t it? He was irreparable.

“Please, gi͢ve͠ i҉t͠ up,͏ M̶…” he repeated, voice crackling in a sigh.

“Since when have I ever given up on you?”


	5. Failed Escape

“Where did you think you were going, Yancy?” Mr. Murder-Slaughter sighed, well-worn baton resting easily in his hand. “Back to your childhood home? Bunk up with an old college roommate? You know how your roommate here would miss your smiling face.”

“Why should I explain anythin’ to you’se? S’not like I was gonna take you’se with me. _Nngh!_ ” Spots scattered through Yancy’s vision, followed by reflexive tears as his nose and jaw pounded from the blow, but he swallowed the blood that surfaced rather than spitting it. “If…If all you’se wanted was to be included, you’se could’ve asked nicely. Said ‘please’ and all. I might’ve considered.”

The warden sneered. “It seems you need a little more _speech therapy_ , Prisoner #1007. Repeat after me: ‘I don’t want to be free.’”


	6. "Stop, please."

“Ghh…Get away from me…Get off! I’ll—I’ll _make_ you…” The Author’s slurred threats were empty, his body too drained to put up a fight as the King eased him down against the wall of his cabin. He groped limply for his notebook and pen, as if unaware that they were across the room. “Don’t touch me. Jus’ stop, please…”

“You’re not yourself, my friend. You know me. I would never hurt you,” the King promised softly, dipping the edge of his cloak in the nearby bucket he had filled with river water. When the damp fabric brushed his beading forehead, the Author shuddered, only to groan in relief when he realized how cool it was.

“There…What sort of king would I be if I left my scribe to suffer this way?”


	7. Carrying

“Hold on, Schneep. No matter what happens…you can’t let go!” Marvin panted, lunging over a fallen branch and narrowly avoiding a slip on the underbrush. Draped listlessly over his back, Schneep didn’t stir or even groan as he was jostled, damp smears of crimson surfacing where his head fell against Marvin’s shoulder. His hands dangled lifelessly at Marvin’s shirt collar.

“H-Hey, no, you don’t! I said _hold on_ to me! We’re gonna make it. Come on…you’re stronger than this!” Panic surged in Marvin’s stomach with every stagger, every stumble. Though Schneep was underweight, not at all a heavy burden, Marvin’s lungs were burning, his throat closing up. He was wasting oxygen trying to keep him awake.

“Schneep, you…you stay with me, okay? Don’t you dare try to bow out now.”


	8. Abandoned

“ _I’m ending this, Illinois. This idol will be my historical find—and who knows? Maybe someday another historian might think of digging for you!_ ”

Scuffed, grimy hands quivering, Illinois dug into the cave floor and strained, rocks and rubble groaning on top of him. It was meant to be a relief that he still had feeling in his body, yet the swell of trapped bruises and the claws of agony that tore up his spine were dizzying. All he could cling to was the crumbling hope that his partner, somewhere in the tunnels, still had enough heart for guilt, pity or mercy. Anything to do with a value for human life.

_This is what trust and codependence get you_.

“Come back. Help me…Don’t leave me here, please…”


	9. "Take me instead."

“Get your hands off him!” Reporter Jim screamed, flailing against restraining arms as Cameraman Jim was hurled against their attackers’ van door. His camera tumbled to the ground with a mighty crash, red light sputtering out.

“You took video evidence of a crime on September 25th!” their leader barked, snagging a fistful of CJ’s hair. CJ couldn’t find the voice to cry out, only gasping as his skull was slammed back against the van window. “ _Where is it?!_ ”

“No! You got it all wrong; it was me!” RJ wasn’t sure where that idea came from, somewhere of irrational terror, but it did the trick. Their attention was on him now as he babbled frantically, “I took that video; I-I was the one behind the camera that day! Take me instead!”


	10. Trail of Blood

They were onto him—that security detail that his senpai’s awful parents had hired. They weren’t like the last ones, prone to underestimating him; these men shot first and asked questions later.

Stumbling under the cover of the nearest alleyway, Yandere wrangled his neckerchief off and braced, grinding it down firmly against the weeping bullet graze in his arm. A whimper escaped him, pain making his head floaty and his knees weak as he shuffled to look back. Glistening dots of crimson were scattered in his wake.

 _No mess, no evidence_ , Bim always warned. Even if he escaped, they would find his blood, notify the police, identify him! Unless, of course…none of them survived to make that call. He had brought his katana for a reason.


	11. Crying

**“Da, we’re in no danger. We’re safe at home, all of us. The dream shan’t hurt you or your dear ones.”**

Jameson knew he couldn’t be heard, but he hoped the message would get through to Chase’s subconscious somehow as he rubbed his back. Lashes wet and eyelids squeezed tight, Chase muffled hitched sobs in his pillow.

Neither of them should be so accustomed to this; Jameson already knew what would happen next. Whether by the nightmare growing out of control or sobbing too hard, Chase would eventually startle himself awake. He would cringe and hide his face, choking out that JJ didn’t have to come. Jameson would promise, **“I’ll always come,”** and Chase, ashamed, would go silent. Round and round, this sorry little game of theirs.


	12. Broken Bones

It was official: that last goon’s savage kick had done him in. Silver Shepherd coughed as he fought his way to his feet and regretted it instantly, fire lancing through him as broken ribs seized and then buckled. Swaying under the assault, he shouldered into the nearest wall for balance with a strangled whine. His side throbbed tenderly as he wrapped a protective arm around it, blinking hard against a rush of nausea.

In this condition, parkour was definitely not an option. Walking all the way back to the manor probably wouldn’t be the wisest choice either. The pain was already trying to feed on his senses; every step would feel like another steel-toed boot to the chest.

 _I sure hope the doc is free for a pickup_.


	13. Oxygen Mask (Swap AU)

_Emergency protocol: Secure your own oxygen mask before assisting others_. _Without a mask, you risk passing out and being no good for anyone_.

In that case, Dr. M would do what he could while he was still conscious. Ignoring the flutter of wooziness that spun through him, he re-steadied his hand and kept the mask cupped firmly to Charles’ face. His heart thudded sluggishly in his chest with mingling relief and regret. Every breath he took was Marvin’s sacrifice. _Priority of life_.

“Take it slow, Charlie,” he rasped. “There’s…There’s no fresh air down here so…you need to make this last. Can’t afford to hyperventilate.”

 **“But…wait, doc, what does that mean for you? Where’s _your_ mask?”** When he noticed the glazed, weary stare his friend was giving him, Charles stiffened. **“Marvin?”**


	14. Heat Exhaustion

“Jackieboy! Hey, can you hear me?!” The voice was dim and distant but even with his ears ringing Jackie registered the panic in its tone. Someone needed him.

When he tried to stir, he couldn’t find the strength; his head was hazy and weightless, his body heavy. Sweat pricked his eyes as he cracked them open. “Jack?” he croaked, his throat like sandpaper.

“I’m here, I’m right here. What’re you trying to do, give me a heart attack?!”

“Wha’ happened?”

“You passed out on me, man; it was freaky! Sip on this,” Jack urged worriedly, tearing open his water bottle. The water was blissfully cool on Jackie’s parched lips. He gulped it down greedily, shivering under the excess which spilled down his face and neck.


	15. Science Gone Wrong

Henrik’s syringe had bounced away somewhere, leaking remains of green fluid. The same green bubbled before him, its glow sickening to look at as it joined his pool of vomit in the biohazard bin.

At least he wasn’t bringing up blood, he reminded himself hazily. His feeble attempt to laugh provoked another spasmic, exhausted gag. He shouldn’t be grateful for that. Blood would be something normal, _natural_. This fizzed in his throat, ate away at his tongue and carved cracks in his lips as it dripped from them in globs and strings.

 _Ends justify means_. The infection would leave its mark and make him stronger—but first, as it crawled up his spine into his brainstem, a long, dreamless sleep on the cold floor sounded like heaven.


	16. Hallucinations

Time had no meaning. The clocks were skipping, ringing, cobwebbed and cracked. Their numbers were letters and their hands were knives. Something thick and wet was leaking from the Host’s ears—his mind sloshing out of his skull like wine from a goblet, thoughts spilling into the gaping jaws of the void. It couldn’t be satiated until he was brought to dust.

“The Host can’t…can’t See what’s _real_ …anymore,” he slurred, his tongue tasting of worms and his teeth of rust. His own voice was hissing back at him from the pits of the room. “Is he still real? Is he real?”

Glass. Mosaic. Velveteen. Pain crushed into his temples, more present than identity.

Frigid, calloused hands cupped his bloodstained face, making him shudder. “I’m here. I am real.”


	17. Blackmail

“Lydia doesn’t know, does she?” Jameson went rigid at the smug condescension in Anthony’s tone as he nudged the knife’s tip against his vest. “No, she’s always been that oblivious; if she doesn’t want to know something, she won’t. Those secrets of yours aren’t healthy for a relationship, you know.”

**“Brute! You’re no great part of your sister’s life. What business is it of yours?!”**

“Oh, her life is pretty boring, but I’ve learned quite a bit about _your_ business, _Earl_.” He chuckled then as Jameson flinched back, the blood draining from his face. “And if you’re the up-and-coming sidekick, I have a hunch that someone _very_ close to you is Jackieboy Man. It sure would be a shame if that news got slipped under the wrong door, wouldn’t it?”


	18. Panic Attack (Swap AU)

“Splendor. Hey, it’s going to be okay,” James murmured worriedly. “Try to breathe. I know it’s scary, believe me, I _know_ , but you’re gonna get through this.”

“ _Nein_ , _nein!_ ” With a reedy, broken wail Splendor ducked his head under trembling arms, a pitiful shield against whatever blow he expected to come. The scars were already there to prove it had been necessary at some point before. “ _Ein Trick, eine Lüge…Du bist nicht echt!_ ”

German was largely uncharted territory, but his actions spoke for themselves. A lump formed in James’ throat at the sight. “Splendor, I need you to focus here, on this moment. No one’s going to hurt you. No one else is here right now, just you and me. Please, tell me what I can do to help.”


	19. Mourning A Loved One

Edward slept with his brother’s coat. Rather, he curled into a quivering ball in the darkness with Chef Iplier’s coat bundled up against him, face hidden pathetically in the nearest sleeve. In desperation he imagined warmth and solidity. When was the last time he hugged him?

Lost in the fabric were faint traces of peanut butter, cinnamon, pumpkin spice…Evan’s favorite flavors to work with. Edward had never appreciated them as intensely as he should have and now he could barely make out the scent through the tears that clogged his sinuses and throat. His voice was gone, lost through too many sobs. What was there for him to say anymore?

 _Why did you leave me? I have no one else. Just let me die. I can’t do this without you_.


	20. Lost

Crawling on rickety hands and knees, Chase slumped under the cover of a weed patch and whimpered for mercy. His head was hammering, heavy on his sunburnt neck as he scanned for some familiar landmark. A plain, empty road stretched before him.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been blackout drunk, but he never woke up like this. Bruises mottled his stomach, aching with every breath. Old, crusted blood clogged his nose and his eyes were nearly swollen shut. The senselessness of it was terrifying. _What happened? What did I do?_

The others would be looking for him, he knew. He _hoped_. His phone was dead in his pocket. Who knew how long it would be before he found his bearings again? _Stupid, clueless, weak and useless. Same Chase as ever_.


	21. Hypothermia

“Y’don’t need t-to panic, C-Cap, s’nothin’,” Yancy mumbled, chattering teeth out of his control. “I ain’t d-d-drowned so, uhhh…m’fine.” It was a term he used loosely, considering he couldn’t feel his knees knocking underneath him. The longer he shivered, the number his body felt.

“Ye took a nosedive into the waves on the coldest moon this month, matey!” Magnum shot back as he heaved a thick stack of blankets out of a cabinet. “Drownin’ be the least of your worries now. Get to strippin’! With those wet rags of yours, the chill will take ye faster!”

“Wh…Huh?” The captain’s spiel went in one ear and out the other, exhaustion smothering Yancy’s attention as it melted over him. “I th-think…jus’ g-gotta lie down…for a while…”


	22. Drugged (Swap AU)

Janson hadn’t reacted fast enough. As soon as the keen dart had speared into his shoulder, he’d yelped, tearing it out in blind panic, but it wasn’t enough to spare him. Now his mind was swirling, clogged with roaring white noise. Icy hot tremors rolled through him, bearing down with every aimless, staggering step.

He had sent Marvin a message, hadn’t he? Delirious, haphazard gibberish that could hopefully translate to an SOS…He couldn’t remember. He didn’t have long to try, either, a slurred moan spilling out as his body crumbled to ruins around him.

Someone was coming—A blurry shadow with a satisfied sigh and a smile in their voice. “There, there. Let’s not waste any more time fighting it, pet. I have a feeling you’ll need your rest.”


	23. Exhaustion

He was done, spent. He had no more to give. Blood ribboning from his nose, wetting his cracked lips and the floor underneath his sweaty cheek, Marvin felt the shimmery corrosion of magic exhaustion overtake him.

Bruises spread like hives, swells of them creeping over his neck, back and arms. His bones felt dull and hollow, like old papier-mâché. Sore muscles twitched helplessly and raw nerves screamed, atrophied without their natural magic lining them. All of his light had been poured out, leaving nothing but heavy, heavy…

Consciousness was going under, eyelids drooping, more than ready to retreat from the _realness_ of his aches. Time to close the curtain for the indefinite future, with the hope that he would somehow wake up in his welcome bed.


	24. Sensory Deprivation

Google’s world was empty—no input, no information to process. Hours had passed since his last moment of cognizance: his captors approaching with a full toolbox. Hands ripping at his hair, twisting his head to expose the panel in his neck. A screech, a crack, a spray of sparks, and then absolute _nothingness_.

This was a brand new form of torture. Blind optics flicked frantically for scans that returned void, audial recordings were just muffled skips of static. Were his restraints still there? Could he move? Was he _being_ moved? His outer shell was paralyzed, revulsion, rage and panic trapped and rattling within.

Filthy human hands could be violating his body at this very moment and he would never know. There was nothing he could do to stop them.


	25. Ringing Ears

Superhuman senses weren’t always an advantage, especially in a household of five. The others’ chatter crescendoed in waves, grating down Jackieboy’s spine. It wasn’t their fault, it wasn’t on purpose, but the fork that squeaked against someone’s plate was like a needle in his eardrum.

Once it struck, that shrill chord wouldn’t stop ringing. Jackie grabbed for his drink, something to ground himself. The fan blades overhead were making the light bounce. Chase was crunching carrots beside him and JJ’s signs flashed and Henrik was rambling and Marvin’s chair legs let out an ungodly screech on the tile—

And then it was over. They were all silent, staring at him, and it wasn’t until he saw blood that he realized his glass had shattered in his hand.


	26. Concussion

He needed to get back to the campsite; he would be fine if he just stayed determined. Good in theory, but at the moment Illinois was hard-pressed to keep track of his own teetering footsteps, much less his destination. If he was honest, he could only be about half-sure this was the right direction.

Ever since that fall he’d taken while escaping the city, invisible fingers had wrapped around his skull, trying to crack it open through sheer pressure like a cork. Every two minutes or so he faltered to a stop, eyes squeezed shut against the piercing sun and relentless surges of nausea.

_Forget the rendezvous_. All he wanted now was to sprawl face down and pray the ground would stop swerving underneath him.


	27. Extreme Weather

“Let me in! I’m here! Can’t you hear me?! _Please_ , open the door!” Hunched against the side of the manor, the King banged on the window bars, his cries drowned out by wind and thunder. He had been foraging so long, the others wouldn’t even think to leave the house unlocked and Wilford had shot out the doorbell weeks ago.

The King beat at the walls until his hands went bloody and raw. Weighed down by mud-caked, sodden clothes, he skidded gracelessly to the ground and coughed against the frigid, pounding sheets of rain. Every inhale held water, burning his lungs.

By now his subjects had taken refuge in their nests and hollows. That thought should have comforted him, yet his eyes stung miserably. Without them, he was truly alone.


	28. Mugged

_I don’t have anything to give you!_

Bim remembered trying to placate them with those words only seconds before the butt of the gun swung at him. His world went pure white as he reeled, slammed into a dumpster and then the pavement. To ensure he’d stay there, the gunman’s accomplice jammed a foot into his stomach.

The next two kicks felt like they would rip holes through him; he writhed, close to dry-heaving, as grubby hands tore at his suit for a prize. His wallet wasn’t on him, so they turned the search toward his phone, his watch—By the time they resorted to taking his tie pin, he had regained enough awareness to moan.

“Idiot,” one of them sneered. “You brought it on yourself, dressing like that.”


	29. Reluctant Bedrest

“I c-can’t stay. I’m late, I’ve gotta get to work. They need me out there,” Shepherd wheezed, thick, guttural coughs breaking through as he struggled to push away the covers. His muscles were unhelpful, protesting the movement with deep, dragging aches. With that meager effort, he was already sweating.

“I’m playing the villain today, Caleb. This is a fight I’m gonna win,” Roxanne countered, unable to mask her concern as she pressed a soft palm to his cheek. “You look awful and you’re way too warm. I don’t want to be worrying all day about whether or not you’re going to pass out or fall off a building during patrol! Please, just trust me on this one.”

If it meant more of her cool, soothing touch, maybe he should.


	30. Ignoring An Injury (Swap AU)

“Are they still there?” James hissed, clutching at Charles’ arm as he peeked down the dark street. Wisps of smoke were still traveling from the gunshots behind them, but there was no sign of their pursuers.

 **“We’ve given them the slip for—for the moment,”** Charles managed, hoping the shadows masked how he slumped against the alley wall. As sticky heat throbbed down his pant leg, he took a shaky breath and held it. _Not the time. Pain will pass. Bear down. Make your boy safe_. **“Nnh, no dawdling now. Let’s not risk waiting for them.”**

If forming words took such effort, how was he going to run? He’d find a way, because he couldn’t afford not to.

“Dad, are you okay?”

**“Get a move on.”**


	31. Left For Dead

He shouldn’t be so cold. The dark, glassy puddle forming under Jameson’s body was warm not so long ago, wasn’t it? Yet he trembled as he watched the sky pinwheel above him. His heart plodded dully in his ears, the only sound in the world.

 _I…I was going to meet Master McLoughlin one day. Seán. I never found the chance to be his friend. I never even got to look him in the eye_. His breath hitched, crackling, blood thick in his throat.

 _Did I tell Lydia I loved her before I left? She doesn’t know. She shan’t think to look for the ring in that drawer. I thought we had time_.

_Da will be destroyed. He’ll never forgive himself._

Tears trailed softly down gray cheeks and stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, Whumptober comes to a close. I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
